A Weekend of Art and Protest

Dear Friends,

Thanks for your patience as I transfer my writing to a new website. I hope you find The Bureau of Ideas to be everything you like about The Octopus and The Ant. I haven't figured out all the bells and whistles yet, but one of these days I will dig in and make this as welcoming as possible. I was too busy to do it this weekend; we went to NYC for a friend's 50th and then marched and saw a lot of art. And walked. And walked, And walked. My feet hurt so much. Visiting cities warrants walking everywhere because I have few deadlines and a desire to offset my calorie intake with physical activity.

On Saturday, we walked through Prospect Park and people-watched before heading to Grand Army Plaza to march in the No Kings event there. It was sort of funny: there were a lot of people milling around in the farmers' market - some with signs, some with reusable bags - before it became clear where the march started. It was along Prospect Park West. It was very pleasant. We seemed to be in a quiet section where no one was willing to lead the "Hey hey, ho ho, Donald Trump has got to go" chant, so we shuffled along amiably, reading the signs, appreciating people's costumes. It was more low-key than an Oakland march, but it had the same oversampling of older white people and young parents that we get in the Bay.

Which reminds me. I read this social media post complaining about all the white people who are marching that came from the left and it was along the lines of "Oh, now you're speaking up. Where were you when the election happened?" and I think that kind of criticism must come from Russian bots because the people who are marching now were probably not the people who were blowing off the election. Maybe some did, but now they're engaged, and welcome. As for them being white - yes, that's good too! White people with privilege need to be speaking out, especially since the people who are most vulnerable right now need to be in safe places, not forced to advocate solely for themselves.

Back to my regularly scheduled programming. If you weren't able to march this weekend but you want some vicarious joy from the camaraderie of Americans speaking out, check out today's Pushback, which has lots of links to No Kings rallies around the US.

After the march, and lunch with my cousin Rachael, who has an absolutely bananas story about going viral in a different misinformation campaign, we went to Chelsea and visited a few art galleries. I don't remember them all, but I really liked the Pedro Reyes and Dalton Paula exhibitions at the Lisson Gallery and the Hayv Kahraman show Ghost Fires at the Jack Shainman Gallery. While other people are raking leaves and carving pumpkins (It is, after all, decorative gourd season, motherfuckers), some New Yorkers walk around Chelsea visiting galleries as their autumn activity. It's quite a scene.

After THAT (and at this point, I'd walked maybe ten miles), we went to the MOMA to see the 2025 new photography exhibit, had a drink at The Modern, ate an obscene amount of pasta at a theater district restaurant, and saw Waiting for Godot starring Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter.

Waiting for Godot is a notably obtuse play, but I figured that if I was going to see it once in my life, it might as well be this production, if only for the novelty of seeing Bill and Ted in person. Most people were there for the same reason, and I wish I had the presence of mind to interview people coming out of the theater to see what they thought about it. One interesting thing about this play is that it's a little difficult to find theories about the play. Most websites just recount the basics of the plot and note Samuel Beckett's unwillingness to see it changed or filmed, for example. But I spent my time in the theater imagining theories about the story.

Crystallized, I think the play is really about one man - Vladimir - who struggles with the pessimistic, suicidal part of himself (Estragon) while he waits in Purgatory. Each day, Pozzo and Lucky visit. Lucky is God(ot), testing whether Vladimir recognizes that he is being persecuted by Satan (Pozzo) and whether Vladimir will intervene. Vladimir never recognizes that Lucky is Godot, never intervenes in the persecution of Lucky, and so each evening The Boy comes to let him know that Godot will surely come tomorrow. Which he does, although Vladimir doesn't recognize him.

Someone please argue with me about this.

Today, Brook and I visited the Brooklyn Museum where we saw The Dinner Party by Judy Chicago. Brook has a distinct memory of seeing this piece in the early 1980s when it debuted, but I wasn't that familiar with it. I did love it. The tribute, the details, all so lovingly rendered. A really beautiful historical document. I would love to read a novel about an actual dinner party that brought these 39 women together. The fortieth would be Judy Chicago herself, of course. It would be amazing.

Another cool exhibition we saw was Seydou Keita: A Tactile Lens. Keita was a Malian photographer who did portraits of African men, women, and families through the years before and after the end of colonialism in Africa. He has a really incredible visual style, arranging people and their clothes among totems of Western influence, like cars, a Vespa, and jewelry. It was great. They also had Christian Marclay's Doors video. Marclay edits together film snippets of people opening and closing doors. It's pretty hypnotic.

So yeah. A lot of art, friends, family, protest. All in all a good weekend. Maybe I'll try it again next weekend! Much love to you all.